


Come To Me

by PenguinofProse



Series: Smutty Saturdays [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Lovers to Friends, S1-4 highlights, Smut, Smut with a happy ending, Smutty Saturday, but they both know Clarke's really in charge, gentle choking, have i mentioned smut?, how the show should have gone, one moment of slightly dubious consent, smut with a fluffy ending, so much love and happiness, who happen to be in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Clarke and Bellamy go from casual hookups to friends with benefits to best friends who sleep together to happy couple. Selected highlights from S1-4.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Smutty Saturdays [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930432
Comments: 62
Kudos: 348
Collections: favorite stories





	Come To Me

**Author's Note:**

> No matter what incomprehensible writing choices the show may make, you can depend on smutty Saturday! I've not managed to convince myself to write anything new yet since Wednesday, but I'm posting this which I wrote earlier in the week and hope it helps you forget 7.13 for a little while. We've got our faves sleeping together right from the start and noticing along the way that they actually quite like each other. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing this, and for also being a lovely person. Happy reading!

They are not friends, at first.

But even then, Clarke can see that she could be friends with Bellamy, if the circumstances were right. Anyone who cares about their sister that much seems like good friend material. The raw thoughtless warmth of him reminds her of Wells, in some ways. The way he makes foolish decisions out of love.

And yet he has a firmness and fire that couldn't be less like Wells. Not to mention one hell of a chip on his shoulder.

So they're not friends, at first. Sometimes they are allies, or colleagues, and that's a start.

…...

They miss their chance to become friends and become lovers instead. Clarke doesn't suppose there is any specific rule against being both, but that doesn't seem to be how Bellamy operates. He doesn't particularly appear to respect or admire or even like most of the girls he entertains in his tent.

She's surprised, the first time he shows up at her door of salvaged nylon. It's late on the night of the Unity Day fiasco, and she thinks this camp would be better served by both of them getting some rest. All the same, she lets him in.

"Having fun yet, Princess?" He asks darkly.

She snorts with grudging laughter. She has to admit, it's one of his better qualities – he makes her laugh a lot, even when the world feels like it's falling apart around their ears.

Little does she know it, in this moment, but that will become something of a theme in the months to come.

"What do you want?" She asks on a sigh. "Which of the kids has managed to hurt themselves now? Who's got into a fight?"

"No one. And no one."

"Then what do you want?"

He doesn't answer in words. He answers by pressing his lips to hers in a crushing kiss, by wrapping his arms tight around her torso so quickly that she finds her arms are pinned to her sides.

She can't explain why she kisses him back. Maybe it's that stupidly, dangerously big heart of his, on display whenever he cares for his sister or one of the younger kids. Maybe it's the fear she felt on that bridge – the fear she's been repressing ever since they reached the ground.

Maybe it's Finn.

Whatever it is, she kisses him back hard, giving as good as she gets. He groans into her mouth, pulls her somehow even closer, her arms still pinned at her sides.

She nips his lower lip. That's what he'll get, for trying to clip her wings like this.

He takes the hint, relaxes slightly. His arms soften and she moves to wrap her arms around his waist. She's almost disappointed when his arms stay relaxed around her. Now it's gone, she's realising there were good things about the way he was holding her fast. Something about the raw strength of him that really turned her on.

To be fair, though, she's plenty turned on enough without that.

"What do you want?" She challenges him for a third time.

"I want you on your hands and knees." He tells her.

She hesitates just a moment. She wonders whether she ought to go through with this. Is there some kind of power play here she needs to be wary of? Is this the tension between them, the struggle for leadership, spilling over into an unhealthy pursuit of dominance in the bedroom?

Or is it simply hot sex with a hot guy who's not afraid to tell her what he wants?

"I'll take care of you." He says simply, a promise murmured against her neck.

Well, then. That settles it. Taking care of people does seem to be what he does best.

She undresses swiftly while he does the same, then gets down on all fours on her bedroll. She thinks she knows what's coming next – based on Bellamy's rather decisive attitude, his firm touch, his eagerness to get on with this, she figures he'll thrust right into her with his cock while she takes it and feels pleasure mingle with pain. And she's not averse to that, as such. Sure, her natural preference is for something a little more tender but she cannot deny that this atmosphere is working for her, too.

But he doesn't forge ahead like that. He puts a pause on things, just for a moment. He reaches a surprisingly gentle hand to her crotch, teases her for a moment. He cups one breast with his other hand, just lets the weight of it sit in his palm while she catches her breath and relaxes in readiness.

And then he slips a finger inside of her.

"You OK?" He asks. "Have you taken a cock like this before?"

Another surprise in what has been a very surprising day. She expected filthy dirty talk from Bellamy, not gentle inquiries into her comfort and experience.

Not that she's been thinking about Bellamy screwing her at all, obviously.

She contemplates what to say for a moment. It's tricky, because his touch is very distracting, and it's making her usually well-ordered brain rather fuzzy. She figures there's no need to disclose her entire sexual history, which has involved more vaginas than penises. The only cocks she's taken before now are Riley's and Finn's, and both those romances were short at best. They didn't exactly try a wide range of sexual experiences.

"Not in this position." She opts for, in the end.

He slips in another finger and teases her into openness while he answers. "OK. That's alright, Clarke. Just relax and let me make it good for you, OK? Relax and take my cock."

That's maybe more like the genre of bedroom conversation she was expecting from him. A little bit. OK, it still seems to be more... caring than confrontational.

Good god, but he's a confusing man.

He replaces his fingers with his cock, then, and starts rocking his hips against her. It feels good – it feels really good – but it also feels strange and new and a thousand other things she cannot make sense of.

Relax. That's what he told her to do. She's just supposed to relax and let him make it good for her.

"So good, Princess. You're so tight."

Yeah, maybe he might be allowed to call her Princess if he's got his cock inside her. That's a deal she could certainly compromise on.

She stops thinking about deals, then, and thinks only about Bellamy. The rhythm of his hips surging towards her, the way she thrusts back to meet him in response. The sound of praise on his lips and him panting for breath and skin slapping against skin, ever more frantically.

The first time she lets out a keening whine, she's embarrassed. That's a foolish noise, over the top. Sure, this is damn good sex, but she's not convinced it's worth whining like an injured animal over.

"You like that, Princess?" Bellamy asks.

She nods, somewhere between desperate and ashamed.

"Give me your hands."

She does. She reaches back behind her, trusting him on sheer instinct. He grasps her hands, uses them to get more leverage and thrust ever faster. It's pretty great, really – it gives her more pressure, more pace. But it's also kind of hot to be holding his hands, feeling his secure grip, his thick fingers still damp from where he touched her just now.

Also, he has really nice hands. Unfairly nice hands.

The second time she finds herself whining, she's too aroused to care. And the third time, she decides it's probably fair enough – he's driving her to distraction, here.

After the third time, she loses count. She loses herself in pleasure, until all at once she's tumbling headlong over the edge with a cry.

Bellamy's there, too. She hears the change in his breathing, feels him finish inside of her.

They stay there for a moment, breathing, existing. Then Bellamy pulls out, slowly, gently. Attentive as ever to her comfort. It's a strange paradox, she thinks – that almost violent kiss they started with, the rough and rigorous screwing, tangled with such utterly caring behaviour.

She thinks maybe she understands him a little better, now. Maybe she understands the man who would follow his sister into the unknown yet would also torture an innocent stranger.

She feels him start wiping gently down the inside of her thighs, peeks between her legs to see. It looks like he's using the shirt he walked in here wearing, which is yet another strange feature of this strange, strange day.

"Told you I'd take care of you." He mutters, gruff.

She nods. "What about your shirt?"

He chuckles. "I don't think anyone will be complaining if I spend tomorrow shirtless while I wash this one."

She grins. She has to admit, his chest is not the worst sight to see. It's a shame she didn't get to check it out more tonight, she thinks. She wonders if she might remedy that, if they find themselves doing this again sometime.

Suddenly, she finds herself hoping that they'll do this again sometime.

She doesn't get chance to say that, though. He dresses quickly, passes her clothes over to her in a small bundled heap. She doesn't put them on, but rather sits on her bedroll and watches him, somewhere between sleepy and stunned.

And then he walks out into the night, shirtless, and confusing as ever.

…...

It does happen again. Two days later, at about one in the morning, he walks into her tent with barely a word of warning.

"What do you want?" She asks him, but there's a slight quirk to her brow. She thinks she might know the answer, this time round.

"You weren't asleep, were you?"

"That's not an answer." She tells him smartly. He frowns at her. "No. I wasn't." She concedes.

"Good." He's already undoing his belt. "I want you to lie down on your back with your hands over your head."

"Am I allowed to get my clothes off first?" She's not sure why she's asking his permission. She wouldn't take orders from him during daylight hours, but somehow this is different, this game they have recently started to play by night.

He chuckles. "Always so many questions with you, Princess. Yeah, you can take your clothes off."

She does get to appreciate his chest that night. Or, rather, she gets to look at it for a while, and then feel it rubbing against her sensitive nipples as he screws her. She doesn't get to touch it, because he's got her hands held out over her head.

She's not complaining. Sex with Bellamy might be confusing, but it's also hot as hell.

…...

Clarke allows herself to notice something, in the days that follow.

Bellamy always comes to her.

She thinks that's noteworthy, because it's not like that with the other girls he has sex with. Bree and Roma and Fox and the rest always go to him – loitering around him at the campfire, even approaching his tent. And Clarke's not judging them for that, because she's not in the business of shaming people for their sexual appetites and preferences. She just thinks it's interesting, that he breaks his usual habit when he comes to her.

She experiments a little with that idea, when she's feeling bold. On a couple of occasions she tries walking up to him around camp during the day.

"Come to me tonight." She whispers in his ear, low, trying for a sultry tone.

And every time, he does.

But it probably doesn't mean anything, she tells herself. She still hasn't ruled out the idea that this might be some twisted way of asserting his dominance over her, of stating his place as leader of this camp.

If that is what he's trying to do, she doesn't think he's doing a great job of it. He's too careful with her for that, remembers to check that she's comfortable and consenting.

And no matter how often he might hold her down while he screws her, she knows she's still in charge round here.

…...

It's a confusing experience, losing Bellamy in that dropship battle – just like everything about him is confusing, she allows herself to think with a sad smile, as she haunts the hallways of Mount Weather. Clarke has lost friends before, and relatives. But never before has she lost a vague acquaintance she was having regular awesome sex with.

It's easier to admit she liked him for reasons beyond the sex, though, now that he's gone. Now that he's probably dead. It leaves her thinking that he was helpful around camp, had his heart more or less in the right place, and was fundamentally a really caring guy.

It leaves her remembering that she thought they could be friends, once upon a time.

…...

When Clarke sees Bellamy, alive, walking through the gates of camp, her first instinct is to run and fling her arms around him. She needs him in her arms, needs reassurance that he's real and here and breathing. For once in her life, she doesn't stop to think through the wisdom of her plan. She just runs, launches herself at him, hugs him tight.

It takes him a moment, but he responds in kind.

And then they have to get on with saving their people.

It isn't until much later that they get the chance to catch up as they catch up best. Octavia lies by the campfire, either asleep or pretending to be asleep. Clarke takes her chance to issue an invitation to Bellamy.

"I'm going to walk in that direction a little way." She says, pointing over his left shoulder almost at random.

"Thanks for sharing." He smirks at her. It's not quite his usual smirk, still heavy with the weight of everything that's happened since they last saw each other. But it's better than nothing.

"Just until I'm out of earshot of your sister. In case you're interested." She elaborates.

He is interested, it turns out. He's somewhat quiet as they walk together, but she supposes that's unsurprising.

They don't touch while they make their way through the trees. They keep a careful half-foot between them, and Clarke wants to break into hysteria-tinged laughter. Their friends are captive in a mountain, they're engaged in a power struggle with the adults from the Ark, and yet she cannot bring herself to break the tension and touch the guy she's been sleeping with, on and off, for a generous couple of weeks now.

She draws to a halt when she thinks they've gone far enough. And then she turns and looks expectantly at Bellamy. That's how this works – she issues the invitation, then he tells her what he wants. Simple, predictable. And yet anything but boring.

This time, though, he does not bark out orders or pin her arms over her head. Instead he steps forward and kisses her, rather more softly than any other kiss they've ever shared. He wraps his arms about her, but not to constrict. More to hold, or even to protect. It's like that hug they shared earlier, only a thousand times better.

Clarke responds in kind, kissing him deeply, running her hands through his hair. She likes their usual, of course she does. She likes to surrender control for a few minutes in what is otherwise a rather stressful and high-pressure existence. And she likes the sheer strength he shows off when he's putting her in her place.

But this? This might be even better. She's still forgetting the world, still leaving her responsibilities to one side. And she can still feel the strength of his arms, only this time it's all about him taking care of her, without any of the roughness she's grown used to.

Maybe, a cheeky and inappropriately light voice suggests in her mind, the perfect sex life would involve a bit of both. Maybe there could be different acts for different occasions.

It's not long before Bellamy unbuckles his belt and tugs his trousers out of the way, letting his cock spring free. He pulls her trousers and underwear down her legs, too, in one brisk, decisive movement. Yeah, maybe there's still a little hint of that roughness she's grown used to in his actions today.

"You good to go, Princess?"

"Yeah." It comes out more as a sigh than anything else.

He lifts her up against a tree, as she clings to him with her arms and wraps her legs around him. He wastes no time in pushing into her, gets settled and then starts to build up a rhythm.

She likes this. She likes it a lot. It has enough features that are familiar to make her feel relaxed and comfortable, but there's something really lovely about being warmly cocooned in his arms like this after those days when she feared he was dead. He's not dead – he's here, alive, holding her tight. And she can even knit her hands into his hair or suck bruises into his neck.

She does both of those things, just because she can.

Bellamy seems to be losing control more quickly than usual tonight, but she's not complaining. She's already growing seriously aroused herself. She keeps holding onto him, focuses on her pleasure and on enjoying the moment.

That's when the biggest shock of the day presents itself.

"I thought you were dead." He pants against her neck.

Well, now. That sounds dangerously like an implication that he'd care if she was dead, she thinks. It sounds like an implication that he cares about her, at least a little bit. That they might be friends, as well as lovers.

Does this count as being lovers? Hook-ups, perhaps, or casual sex buddies.

"I'm here." She tells him, because that seems easier than trying to talk about her feelings while she's dizzy with pleasure.

"You're here." He repeats, voice shaking with exertion.

She admits defeat. She lets the moment overwhelm her, lets slip some fragment of the truth. "It's good to have you back." She tells him.

He grunts, loud and abrupt. And then he's spilling inside her, sending her tumbling over the edge with a frantic finger reached down between them. It's all such a mess of pleasure and closeness and groans that she can scarcely make sense of it.

The only thing she can keep straight in her mind, in fact, is that it really is good to have him back.

…...

He comes to her in the couple of nights they spend in Camp Jaha after that. Sometimes she issues the invitation outright, sometimes she just shoots him a particular look. Either way, when night falls, he's there more often than not.

Tonight is no different. He knocks on her door, lets himself in when she calls, shucks his clothes off before he has even stopped moving.

But then there's something new. Then he pauses, just for a moment, to fix her with a hard stare.

She bites her lip under his gaze. Why is he looking at her like that? Does she have something on her face? Or is this the moment when they start to be more lovers than casual hook up buddies?

He breaks the silence with a growl. "One of these days I should tie you to the bed."

"What, can't hold me down?" She asks, all mock sweetness.

He gives a bark of laughter. "Something like that."

She gets braver. "Admit it, Bellamy. You like it when I can touch you too." She's noticed, since they have been reunited, that he always relaxes a little when she's running her hands over him. He's even been known to sigh when she threads her fingers through his hair.

"Yeah." He shrugs, unconcerned, and she tries not to gape in shock. They've never really talked before about what they're doing here.

"Yeah?" She prods, hoping for more information.

"Yeah. But maybe tying you up could be fun some time as well."

He gets bored of talking, then, and pulls her in for a heated kiss. She's more than willing to go along with that – she understands that he is not fluent in talking about his feelings any more than she is, so she's not inclined to push him. But not for the first time she finds herself wondering what he gets out of this. He gets sex, obviously, but she's sure he could have almost anyone in this camp if he wanted to. Why her? Why like this? Why obeying her summons but then putting her in her place?

She stops wondering that, very abruptly, when he flips her onto her front, and pins her hands in the small of her back, and pounds into her until she sees stars.

…...

When the Mountain is beaten she leaves him at the gates of Camp Jaha with a kiss on the cheek.

She can't kiss him on the mouth, because this kiss has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with sorrow.

…...

Clarke loses herself and doesn't have much luck finding herself again in the months that follow. She tries everything she can think of – wandering in the woods alone, risking life and limb whilst hunting, immersing herself in politics and negotiation at Polis.

She tries everything she can think of except inviting Bellamy Blake to come screw some sense into her. Somehow she doesn't think she deserves that, after everything she's done. Sure, he can be rough with her, and maybe she merits a little punishment right now. But she sure as hell doesn't deserve the tender care that goes hand in hand with that, nor his smile, nor his steady presence at her side.

She falters in her resolve to stay away from him very abruptly when she hears about the grounder massacre. While she was the one who was struggling, she could stay away. But if he's lost his way, she needs to go to him.

She sneaks into camp and sits in an office to wait while Octavia fetches him. It's a good choice of room, this – the door can be locked, and there's a table and a couple of chairs. Facilities that are perfectly suitable for what she presumes will happen next.

She presumes he's going to hold her down and make her scream his name until he remembers who he is.

Only when he walks through the door, he does not start shedding clothes. His expression is not anger and pain mixed with desire, as she expected. He looks only absolutely broken.

It gets worse. He starts ranting at her – things about how she left him, how betrayed he feels, how furious he is.

And then he cracks out the handcuffs and locks her to the table.

She genuinely sighs in relief. This she can work with. This takes her back to that conversation about tying her to the bed they shared the last time they were in camp together. This is familiar territory – he has vented his wrath, and now they can have sex for a bit and all will be set back to rights.

She leans in, eager, kisses him fast and hard.

He jerks away, leaves her kissing thin air like a total fool.

"What do you think you're doing?" He bites out, more furious than ever.

"I'm sorry. I thought -"

"You thought wrong." He informs her coldly. "I'm done with that, Clarke. You're not in charge here, remember? You don't get to summon me like some plaything anymore." She thinks that's a bit harsh, really. Last thing she checked he's the one who toys with her in the bedroom.

She hates this. She hates that Bellamy is no longer simply confusing, but now someone she barely even recognises. What happened to that dependable friendship they were building?

Oh, yeah. She ruined it. She left him, and now he feels betrayed.

"I'm sorry." She tells him again, crying quietly.

He ignores her and stalks out the door, presumably in search of Pike.

…...

She sleeps with Lexa.

It's not just because Bellamy rejected her – she's not that shallow. She genuinely does fall for Lexa, an intense but fleeting kind of love she has never felt before and doesn't really want to feel again. It's stressful, disconcerting.

It's not like the steadier relationship she was starting to build with Bellamy, before Mount Weather. Or at least the relationship she thought was steady, until it all went wrong.

Sure, she probably wouldn't have fallen for Lexa here and now if the circumstances had been different. There's something about Lexa's new resolution of blood must not have blood that reminds Clarke of sharing forgiveness with her last lover. And Lexa understands her, understands the stresses of leadership, at a time when she's feeling very misunderstood by everyone she used to think she could rely on.

It's fine, anyway. Bellamy has slept with other people in the meantime. He had a girlfriend while Clarke was gone – Octavia delights a little too much in telling her all about it.

So she sleeps with Lexa, and it's fine. It's good, even. Lexa's a wonderful lover.

But Clarke is missing the person she's just realised too late was fast becoming her best friend.

…...

Things change quickly. Lexa dies. Clarke doesn't have time to mourn, because she has to do her duty – isn't that always the way? At least, that has been the way of things since she came to Earth.

Clarke reunites with her friends, her people. There's a new threat and a new solution.

But one thing doesn't change – Bellamy still looks broken.

She wonders what to do about it. She wants to take him in her arms and touch him softly, in that way he was only just starting to allow himself to enjoy before fate and foolishness separated them. But one look at his firm face tells her that he wouldn't welcome it, if she walked up to him with a gentle cuddle, right now.

She has more than enough other things to worry about beyond Bellamy's state of mind. She focuses on trying to immobilise Raven so that ALIE cannot hurt her, spares a few moments to thank Niylah. She ought to see whether she can offer Sinclair any help while Monty and Octavia are out at the dropship. Then she could -

"You're coming with me." Bellamy informs her gruffly, fingers fastened around her wrist.

"What -?"

"With me." He repeats, short.

He tugs her into the main body of Niylah's trading hall, then leads her to a corner, tucked behind an assortment of coats.

Then he bends to kiss her full on the lips.

She catches up at that point. It seems they're here to resume their old habit – or some approximation of it. She's pretty sure that even in the early days this used to involve less actual dragging her bodily around the place and a lot more checking that she was OK. She's worried about where this is going, in short, and for more than one reason.

"We can't." She tells him, pulling away as far as she can get with his hand clasped around her wrist. "We have to watch Raven."

"Jasper's there. This won't take long." He won't meet her eye, which is new, and not in a good way. She can't read whether he's more angry or sad or just an horrendous mix of both.

She hesitates. They have things to do, duties to fulfill. They're in the middle of Niylah's trading post – sure, it's late at night and they're tucked away in a corner, but it's still less than ideal. Except that it's kind of exciting at the same time, she finds that she is thinking despite herself. She wouldn't usually be into doing it right here, where anyone might walk in on them. But somehow she likes the idea that he wants to publicly claim her as his, after everything they've been through, despite all the distance between them.

But she's worried he might actually hurt her this time in his rage. That's her biggest concern.

He breaks first. He sags, releases her wrist, head sinking until he's staring at the floor.

"Please, Clarke. Please let me make you feel good."

"Bellamy -"

"Let me take care of you. I always do take care of you, don't I, Princess?" He's pleading, begging, voice breaking.

She's doing this for all the wrong reasons, she's pretty sure. But she's doing it, stepping forward into his space, cupping his jaw with one hand, kissing him softly. And then he's kissing her back, more urgent, but still careful. He's pulling clothes aside, hoisting her up on his hips, resting her back against the wall.

"You OK?" He checks, in between kisses.

"Yeah. You?"

He doesn't answer. He just eases inside of her, starts building up a rhythm. Clarke breaks away from the kiss in favour of resting her face against his neck. It's been a long time since she's had Bellamy in her arms like this, and she's missed the feel of him, the scent of him. He's as warm and solid as ever, here and now, like this. The distance in their friendship doesn't seem to exist while she's settled in his arms in this moment.

Bellamy's already losing control, breathing growing ragged. It seems he wasn't lying when he said this wouldn't take long. She clasps at his back, desperate for more and closer in an instinctive way she cannot altogether express. He gives it to her, shifting the angle a little, speeding up more. He helps her along with quick, gentle touches on her clit, with warm lips on her neck, with his other arm tight around her.

She feels safe, here. He was right – he always takes care of her. In this moment, the rest of the world doesn't exist and she feels like she can let go.

So she does let go, clenching around him, then relaxing almost boneless in his arms. He follows soon after, then holds her there a moment longer while he lets out a shuddering sigh.

And then he's pulling away, setting her gently back down on the ground.

It's when he bends to help her get dressed again that she notices it. His face is a little more relaxed than it was just now, but his cheeks are streaked with tears. She reaches out, traces one tear track with a gentle finger.

"Bellamy -"

"What?" He snaps, uncharacteristically short. Or perhaps it's not uncharacteristic at all – it's happened all too often, since she left him.

She persists. She curls her palm against his cheek, follows his face with her hand as he stands up and backs away.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

There's a pause. She's going to leave her hand there until he says something useful, she resolves. She's going to keep comforting him until he gives her a proper answer even if it takes all night.

"I can't." He tells her shortly.

"You can't yet."

He smiles. It's not a warm smile, or a happy smile, or even an amused smile. He's humouring her rather than truly agreeing with her, but it's a start.

"Thank you." He mutters, a little softer. "Welcome home, I guess."

It's a ridiculous comment. This is not home – this is a temporary stop on a journey to nowhere. And yet, as he turns his face to press a kiss to her palm, she finds that his words make perfect sense.

…...

Clarke follows Bellamy when he walks off down the beach. Of course she does – he's her friend, and he's upset, and it's getting dark out there.

She wonders what to say while she's walking. She wonders about trying to affirm their friendship and reassure him that she's here for him. She wants him to understand that she's missed him for more than only the sex, these last few months, and that she's more than ready to talk about the many things that are evidently still bothering him.

But then she wonders about maybe saying nothing at all. Sometimes she thinks they're better at communicating in closeness and wordlessness.

No. They'll never get better at talking about what really matters unless they try, she resolves.

She arrives at his side, opens her mouth to speak. But then, to her surprise, he beats her to it. Apparently he's not in the same silently sullen mood as he was at Niylah's.

"I'm sorry." He says, and he's looking out at the water rather than at her.

"You're OK. You don't have to apologise for being upset. You've been through a lot."

He looks up at her sharply. "No, I mean – I'm sorry for the way I behaved at Niylah's. I shouldn't have done it like that. I shouldn't have pressured you. I should have just – left it." He finishes weakly.

She steps a little closer, leans into his side. She knows by now that he appreciates physical comfort more than he likes to let on.

"Or you could have talked about it?" She suggests. "You could have asked for a hug?"

He's silent for a moment, eyes flickering back to the ocean. His face is a little more relaxed, though, jaw not clenched so firm. This is progress, she hopes.

"Can I have a hug?" He murmurs.

She doesn't waste a second. She throws her arms around him, nuzzles into the soft skin of his neck. She presses a gentle kiss to a cluster of freckles, just one, while she's there. She figures he could probably use a kiss after everything that's happened.

"You're OK." She whispers fervently. "I've got you."

He laughs, but there is no humour in it. "I'm supposed to take care of you, Clarke. That's how this works."

"Maybe that's not how it works. Maybe we take care of each other." She says, either because it's the truth or because she wants it to be the truth. They've come a long way from possible power plays in an improvised tent, she thinks.

That's how the next chapter of their friendship begins – a rather more balanced and healthy kind of chapter, in which they occasionally even speak about what's on their minds.

…...

Clarke thinks it's a good idea to go to Bellamy's room, the first night they are back in Arkadia after the fall of ALIE. She thinks this could be an opportunity to work on bringing balance to their relationship, and show him that he means a lot to her even after they clashed during the reign of Pike.

She also thinks it's a good idea because she wants to get laid. She's not ashamed to admit it.

She's taken by surprise when she finds Bellamy in the hallway about six yards down from his room.

"Clarke? What are you doing here?" He asks.

"Looking for you."

He looks concerned. "What's wrong? Did something happen with the -"

"Nothing's wrong." She swallows. Why is this so difficult? They've been hooking up for months. "I was here to ask if you want to tie me to your bed." She tells him, looking at his lips because she doesn't dare meet his eyes.

Also because she likes looking at his lips, to be fair.

He frowns. "But I was just heading over to yours to ask you that."

"OK. Well I'm here now."

He still looks less than happy. "But I always come to you."

"I thought we could change it up." She offers, shrugging.

He doesn't argue any further. He leads the way back to his room, and they kiss for a little while. Then he strips her naked, ties her to the bedpost with his belt, and eats her out until she's exhausted, shaking, and begging for mercy.

But it's what happens next that's really interesting.

He unties her gently, presses soft kisses to her wrists where the belt was fastened. He brushes a thumb across her forehead, kisses her nose as well.

Then his eyes flicker down to her chest, where two small dressings cover the wounds ALIE had her mother inflict on her. He gasps and brushes her hair away where it is partially covering the dressings.

"I'm so sorry, Clarke. I didn't see them – I didn't think. Are you OK? Stupid of me to stretch your hands over your head like that."

"I'm fine." She tells him, reaching up for a soft kiss. "They don't hurt."

It's not quite the truth. It did tug at the wounds a little, to stretch her arms out like that. But it was so very worth it.

Mollified, he lets it go. But he doesn't let her go. In a most unexpected development, he lies down on the bed next to her and gathers her into his arms.

That's what gives her the courage to ask. "Why are you doing this, Bellamy? I'm not complaining. I enjoy it. I just – I don't see what's in it for you."

"You're hot. I like to think we have fun together." It's a complimentary answer, but not quite the raw honesty she was hoping for.

"Yeah. You, too." She agrees lightly.

She feels slightly defeated, but Bellamy's hugging her, so that's fine. Maybe it's silly of her to want them to share more with each other, anyway. This is just casual between them – it always has been. It's just that since they've become such good friends as well, she's allowed those lines to blur a bit in her own mind. That's how she reasons it away, at least.

They've been lying here in silence for a good couple of minutes, now. Clarke is beginning to think she ought to go home. Protracted cuddling after sex is not really in their repertoire, she's pretty sure.

But then Bellamy speaks.

"It was about my sister to start with. That's seriously screwed up, huh? But I felt like I was losing control of her. And I'd been her caretaker my whole life – I didn't know how not to have someone in my life to order around and take care of at the same time. I didn't know how to function without someone needing me."

Clarke says nothing. She just strokes his chest and waits to see if there is more to come.

"It's not about my sister any more." He whispers, at length.

She wonders what to say. It's about what she expected, if she's being honest. The exciting thing is not what he's said, but that he's said anything at all.

"It's no more screwed up than anything else since we've come to the ground." She opts for, in the end.

He lets out a sigh that might almost be a short laugh. "You're probably right. What about you?"

She knows what he's really asking. "It was partly about Finn to start with. And it's about forgetting all my responsibilities for a while. Letting someone else be in charge for a change."

"Even though you're really in charge." He accuses. "You and your little invitations."

She laughs a little, conceding that point. "Mostly it's about you." She continues. "I know that sounds silly but – I like you. We're friends. I enjoy your company and we have good sex."

"Yeah. Mostly it's about you for me, too."

She stays another half hour before she decides she really ought to leave. It might just be the best half hour of her year.

…...

They fall back into old habits, after that. Clarke still whispers her invitations in his ear, they still meet in her room more often than his. So much for balance, for the idea of going to his room once in a while. In her defence, she's trying to lead her people through the end of the world. She figures she can worry about healthy relationships later – if they get a later.

For all that their arrangement still looks superficially the same, though, there is no doubt that some things have changed. They talk about what they need and want a little more openly. He hangs around after sex, and they discuss whatever is on their minds.

So, yes, maybe she is already working on that healthy relationship ever so slightly, even as they prepare for the world to burn.

Sometimes, though, there isn't time for invitations, and for him hanging around in her bedroom, and for deep and meaningful conversations. Sometimes there is only the Chancellor's office, and Clarke's never-ending list of worries, and Bellamy's seemingly infinite patience for helping her wade through everything that needs to be done. Mostly he helps her out by actually doing things – he's a competent leader in his own right, and she trusts his judgement like she trusts no one else.

But sometimes he helps her out by dragging her away from her desk, pushing her up against the wall, and kissing her senseless.

Today isn't quite like that, but it's not far off. Clarke is trying to head out the door to engineering to consult with Raven. It's not a task that needs doing now, but it's a task that needs doing before tomorrow, and so are the three other things on her list marked urgent, and she's feeling really rather frazzled.

But Bellamy doesn't let her go.

He catches up with her as she's striding towards the door, loops one arm around her waist.

And the other arm?

That he holds fast against her neck, forearm against her windpipe, pulling her flush against him.

"You're not going there right now." He informs her, firm, not to be argued with.

"But I need -"

"No you don't. You said yourself it doesn't need doing this second. Right now you need to relax for a minute."

She allows herself to soften ever so slightly, lets out a noise that is perhaps half way to a sigh. She knows where this is going. And perhaps she ought to be stronger, ought to say no and go get on with saving her people.

But he's got a point. It doesn't need doing now. And she's been concentrating since dawn. She has a headache coming on.

She decides that she will perform better for the rest of the day if she takes a moment to relax now. That's what makes her mind up in the end – it's a completely logical and unselfish justification for her actions.

"Thank you." She murmurs. "That sounds good. But it'll take you longer than a minute." She teases.

He laughs and presses a soft kiss to the top of her hair. That's not usually how their sexual encounters start out, but she figures that it's some kind of reflex reaction to his relief and happiness that she's agreed to take a break.

"You OK with my arm on your neck like this?" He whispers in her ear.

"Yeah. Definitely." She considers it for a moment. "You could press a little harder."

He does, just a little – hard enough that she can really feel it, really feels restrained, but not hard enough to be frightening when this is something they haven't tried before. He nuzzles aside her hair, starts pressing hot kisses to the back of her neck. With his other hand, he unfastens her trousers and dips into her underwear.

She finds herself mewling the moment his fingers are in place. She cannot seem to help it – there's something about the sheer relief of relaxing and letting him make her feel good after a long morning of stress that has her arousal building quicker than normal. It's the setting and circumstances too, she thinks. It's seriously hot to be furtively doing this in her office in the middle of the day.

And the arm across her throat? Yeah, that's helping too.

"You doing alright?" Bellamy asks her between kisses.

She hums an agreeing noise. She can't really talk right now, between arousal and the pressure on her throat.

"You're being so good for me, Clarke. That's it."

That has her choking out a gasp. He's been freer with his praise, since they talked the other night about what they get out of this, what gets them going. She likes it – it's good to be appreciated, in a world where she works far too hard for precious little credit.

He moves a little faster, his kisses on her neck growing sloppier. She can feel the bulge in his pants pressing into her lower back, and she allows herself to grind against him slightly. Just to give him something to think about – a promise of what comes next.

"You can let go, Princess. I've got you." He promises, murmuring in his ear. "Just relax for me."

She does. She focuses on his fingers, his voice, that strong arm against her neck. She allows the rest of the world to fall away and comes against his hand.

They stand there a few seconds longer. She's got her trousers around her knees and she's just had her best friend finger her in her office in the middle of the day. And yet there is nothing uncomfortable or shameful about this situation – it feels as natural as breathing, these days, this dynamic of theirs.

"You were right. That was four minutes." Bellamy mutters, laughter in his voice, as he lets her go and reaches for her waistband, helping her to dress.

She giggles. It's a sound she couldn't have imagined making today, if you'd asked her five minutes ago, but now it feels entirely right. "That's pretty fast. We could fit that in more often."

"We should." He agrees, pressing a kiss to her temple as she finishes fastening her trousers.

"Your turn?" She asks, eyes flickering down to his crotch with no attempt at subtlety.

He doesn't even consider it for a moment. "No, thanks. I just wanted to do that."

"Please. Let me return the favour. I don't like the idea that I'm getting more out of this than you are."

He snorts. "Trust me, you're not. We're good – that was what I wanted to do. We don't have to come the same number of times for this to work out." He suggests, shrugging.

She contemplates that for a second or two. She's never really had anything that could be called a steady relationship before, so she's new to the dynamics of two people who sleep together regularly. It never occurred to her before that there was more to mutual satisfaction than keeping score of orgasms.

Huh. Seems like she's decided this constitutes a steady relationship, then.

By the time she's realised she's probably thinking too hard, and remembered that this moment is supposed to be about relaxation rather than revelations, Bellamy has kissed her goodbye and disappeared out the door.

…...

The night he writes her name on the list is the first night he stays in her room through till morning.

Clarke wakes up first. She can feel the warm weight of Bellamy's arm slung over her chest, looks across to see his dark curls falling across his forehead and onto her pillow. It would be easy not to make a big deal out of this, she thinks. They have never made a big deal about their relationship before, so it would be easy to brush this, too, under the metaphorical carpet, and get on with their days without saying a word.

She doesn't want to do that. The world is ending. And yeah, sure, she's not ready to talk about love. But she thinks she can handle a conversation about sleeping arrangements.

When Bellamy starts to wake up, she pulls him in for a sleepy kiss. They make out lazily for a couple of minutes, just kissing and holding each other, nothing further. It's not something they've really tried before – kissing that goes nowhere, kissing for its own sake.

She likes it.

At last, though, she figures they need to stop kissing and face the day. She pulls away, smiling softly.

"Thanks for staying." She murmurs.

"Any time."

There's a pause. She wonders whether he meant any time in a dismissive, don't-mention-it sort of a way, or any time in the sense that he really would stay here whenever the fancy took them.

"I mean it. I could stay more often if you want." He says lightly, and she wonders if he can read her mind.

"Yeah. I'd like that if you would."

That decided, they start moving. They dress quickly and head to breakfast. Clarke has a meeting with the engineering team and Bellamy needs to head out hunting. They really shouldn't have hung around in bed for so long. They eat their food quickly, then stand up almost in unison and leave the dining hall.

"I've got to go." Bellamy tells her, as they walk through camp. She wonders why he's telling her. She knows his schedule. She's perfectly aware that he has to go.

"Yeah." She agrees mildly.

"I'll see you later?"

"Yeah. Come to me tonight?" She invites him, quirking her lips a little. She can mock their silly routine and still stick to it. The two things aren't incompatible.

He lets out a warm chuckle, reaches out a hand to curl around her upper arm. "Always, Princess."

So that ought to be that, Clarke thinks. They've eaten their breakfast and said their goodbyes and made plans to keep up their sex routine later.

But that's not it. That's not the end of their leave-taking.

Bellamy tells her that by pulling her in for a quick, firm kiss before he strides off across the camp.

…...

Some things change after that. Bellamy stays over more often. They kiss around camp quite a lot – kisses goodbye, kisses hello, kisses simply because kissing is a beautiful way to communicate.

But some things don't change. Clarke still whispers coy invitations in his ear, he still comes to her. That's just the way it is.

Maybe if the world ever stops ending, she might try to learn how to meet him half way.

…...

Clarke is not enjoying negotiating for Bellamy and Kane's lives as she stands in a cave with Roan. This is a dangerous situation, she feels. She's ready to give up fifty lives for those two – it's not a difficult decision to make, although she realises that it ought to be difficult.

Only then Roan agrees to the deal, and his face relaxes into that sarcastic half-smile of his, and she remembers that they are friends of a kind.

"Convenient for me that Bellamy showed up when he did." Roan says, laughter in his voice. "That's some leverage I wasn't expecting."

Clarke frowns at him in stony silence. She'll let him tease her just as soon as Bellamy walks free.

"What is he to you?" Roan asks, still visibly entertained by this whole turn of events.

"He's my best friend."

"And your lover."

She doesn't deny it. There's no point – it's the truth. But it's the not the whole truth, she maintains. The whole truth is that he's so much more than that.

She wouldn't expect Roan to understand that – she's not even sure she understands it herself, not just yet.

…...

Clarke stands at the shore and looks out to the sea and knows with utter certainty that she does not want to be separated from Bellamy – not today, not ever. But she knows, too, that is not how leadership works. They have their duties, and so this is goodbye.

She just hopes it's not goodbye forever.

Bellamy seems to be thinking much the same way, as he stands close at her side and speaks in a voice on the point of cracking.

"Clarke, if I don't see you again -"

"You will." She cuts him off.

She cuts him off because she knows what he's going to say – she's feeling it too. This is love, both the hot sparks she's read about in romance novels, but also the comfortable compatibility she saw between her own parents when she was a young child. This is steady support and sensational sex intertwined in the most glorious of messes.

And really, what is love, but seeing beauty in your best friend?

He sighs. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulls her tight against him.

"At least let me tell you that I'm pleased I barged into your tent that first night." He demands – or perhaps begs.

"Yeah. Me too. You know what you mean to me, Bellamy."

He knows, too, why she cannot let him say it, cannot murmur the words to him in return. People she loves die – he's been by her side to watch it happen, most recently, and he's heard her tell him about the deaths that came before.

"I know."

He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't need to. He kisses her – soft and comforting, rather than needy and heated. These casual kisses are happening more and more these days, and she likes that.

And then he squeezes her shoulders one last time, and pulls away, and goes to help Roan unload the fuel.

…...

It's not goodbye forever, it turns out. They see each other again, but somehow they never quite get time for a heated reunion. There are too many things to do, people to save, doors to lock.

Only then Bellamy is trying to unlock the door, and she's pointing a pistol at him and begging him to change his mind. She doesn't want to shoot him – she cannot imagine anything she wants to do less – but that door needs to stay closed. That's how they ensure the human race survives.

But his sister will be the cost. And Clarke knows, in this moment, that Bellamy will be the cost too. His life, probably, because she will have to make this a seriously damaging shot to stop him. But certainly their relationship if nothing else – whatever he might have wanted to say on that beach, he won't feel the same if she kills Octavia.

He doesn't move while she holds the gun in trembling hands and thinks this through. He looks down at her, jaw firm, face completely unimpressed.

"You're not going to shoot me." He tells her, impatient but utterly confident.

She sighs, lowers the gun. "I know."

There's a heavy pause. Clarke wonders whether maybe it's not the shooting that would have wrecked their relationship – maybe she has done that even just by raising the gun.

"Get that damn door open." She tells him, voice sharp with the effort of holding back tears.

"Clarke -"

"Just do it."

He hesitates, just a moment, dithering on the steps. He looks from the door, to Clarke, then back again.

And then he jumps down the steps, crosses the distance between them with impatient strides and pulls Clarke in for a bruising kiss on the lips.

That done, he climbs back up the ladder and opens the door.

…...

Clarke doesn't think that the mission to the tower to send the signal to the Ring is any more dangerous than any other mission at the end of the world. The vision her mother saw showed her dying in the lab, so she's almost starting to relax now they're closer to taking off. Certainly, she doesn't think that anything particularly bad is destined to happen to her out here in the snow.

But then the dish is not aligned.

She holds tight to her self control. She turns the system off, then back on again, praying a lot. She's not sure who she's praying to, or entirely what she's praying for – just that screwing her eyes tight shut and hoping for the best is about all she has left in her, right now.

It works. The dish creaks into place above her, and the signal is sent.

She looks down at the timer on her wrist. Only nine and a half minutes left. She's going to have to run faster than she's ever run in her life. And not only that – she's going to have to do so whilst keeping her footing amidst all this snow, whilst clad from head to toe in sweaty rubber, whilst literally shaking with panic.

She puts one foot in front of the other, tries to focus on speed. There's no point focusing on taking care and keeping her footing – if she's late she's dead, if she slips she's dead. The only way she survives this is with both swiftness and luck on her side.

She's not had a lot of luck, lately.

Maybe that's due to change, she hopes desperately as she sprints. Her legs and lungs are burning with exertion – at least, she hopes it's exertion and not a breach in her suit. She pushes away the fatigue, focuses on thoughts of her mother. Abby is safe beneath the ground in Polis, and as long as Clarke runs quickly now, they'll meet again in five years' time.

And when her legs stop burning and feel only incredibly heavy, and blackness starts to swim at the edges of her vision? Then she thinks of Bellamy. She thinks of him begging her to hurry, of the rushed half-hug he gave her despite their bulky suits. She thinks of a life with him on the Ring – a life where they have the time and peace to work on them, rather than always being distracted by their people and the battle for survival.

She thinks that it's about time she told him she loves him, and that she can't do that if she's dead.

She makes it. She falls through the door of the lab, staggers to stay on her feet. Bellamy is right there, pacing before the rocket, a spare oxygen tank in his hands.

Raven is poking her head out of the rocket door, trying to convince him to get in and leave.

"Clarke!" Bellamy spots her first, of course.

He runs to her, supports her as she staggers the last couple of yards to the rocket. This is the closest thing to a relieved embrace they have time for right now, but she hopes that they might get the chance for a lot more embraces in the years to come.

She made it, and she's safe. She drags herself up the ladder into the rocket, limbs so tired she can barely move. Bellamy's there of course, just one step behind her, lifting her bodily through the hatch. She straps into her seat, fighting to regain her breath as Raven begins the countdown, aware that she's wasting precious oxygen but powerless to do anything about it.

Bellamy reaches out to hold her hand as they take off. That's probably the first time in all these months that she realises he needs her every bit as much as she needs him.

…...

It's going to be a good life, this life they will lead on the Ring. It's not going to be perfect, of course – they have lost so many friends, they will have to go five years without seeing others, and Murphy will not stop moaning about the algae-based diet. But it's going to be a hell of a lot better than what they've just lived through, Clarke finds herself thinking. At least they are safe, and they have some time to heal.

They get the oxygen up and running in good time, and Raven and Monty go to deal with the water. Clarke and the others unload the rocket of provisions. She's feeling stiff from her unscheduled run, and Bellamy is making a fuss. He keeps trying to lift things on her account, suggesting she sits and supervises. He's loitering around her even more than usual, in short, with even more casual touches of her back or waist or arm.

She likes it. She likes it a lot, and she wonders if their relationship is going to be this easy and affectionate for the rest of their time here.

Perhaps not. Perhaps he's only being like this because he's so relieved she's alive. She knows that's making her a little freer with her affection, too. She just found herself kissing him on the cheek for no good reason, for example.

But she cannot bring herself to regret it.

When the rocket is unloaded and the water is running, they split up and go their separate ways to do things like shower and change and choose bedrooms. It's eerie, Clarke thinks, how everything up here has been left ready for them. The beds are made, the closets stocked. Everything that wasn't thought useful enough to take to the ground, or that would have constituted extra weight the engines couldn't handle on landing, has been left perfectly in its place.

She gets cleaned up and changed then chooses herself a room. It's a nice enough room, with a window out to the stars. It's unexciting, but she imagines Bellamy will be spending quite a lot of time here. That will brighten the place up.

Then she sets out down the hallway in search of her friends. She thinks it's past time Bellamy learnt how to play chess.

…...

He comes to her that night.

She's not surprised. She didn't issue one of her little whispered invitations, because it didn't seem necessary. He's spent the whole evening close by, arm slung over the back of her chair at supper or toes poking hers beneath the table as they played chess. She quite likes the idea that they might move away from her summoning him, trying to order him into her presence, and instead try an approach where they just naturally gravitate together.

But she's surprised by what happens when he arrives. He doesn't tell her to get down on her hands and knees – he doesn't even pretend to do anything of the kind. He simply hugs her, very tightly and for a very long time.

"I'm OK. I'm safe. I'm right here." She tells him, because it doesn't take a tactical genius to work out what's going on here. And even if it did – well, she thinks Earth might have made her one, these last few months.

"I was so worried." He murmurs against her hair. "I was on the point of going out there to look for you. I was so worried you weren't coming back to me. You always did make me come to you."

It's a desperate joke for a desperate fear – the kind Bellamy does best. She holds him for a few seconds longer, presses a couple of soft kisses to the crook of his neck while she formulates a plan.

Yes, that's a good idea. She pulls away from the hug and takes his hand.

"Come on." She tells him, heading for the door.

"Where are we going?"

She doesn't answer him. She swipes her toothbrush from her bedside table, because even at her most romantic she's a pragmatic sort. And then she leads him out the door and down the hallway.

"What are you doing?" He asks, audibly puzzled.

"Coming to you. You're right – I've always expected you to come to me. But I want us to do this right, now we have time to figure it out. I want it to be equal, all about give and take. And about the little everyday compromises of where we're sleeping, not about protecting each other in life and death situations and forgiving each other for colossal mistakes all the time."

He doesn't laugh. He doesn't tell her that she seems to be talking about a relationship, when all he wants is sex – and she finally believes in her heart of hearts that it's not true. That this is not about keeping score of orgasms, and nor is it even really about holding her down any more.

It's about them, and that's how it should be.

He nods, but he stops walking. He drags her towards a new door – not in the direction of the room she knows he has chosen.

"Here's an everyday compromise." He tells her. He shoves open the door, and there's a new room. A large double room, with a bathroom and kitchenette – the kind of suite a young couple might have lived in soon after their marriage, in days gone by.

"You want this?" She asks, and she's not asking about hooking up in a double bed. She's asking about the whole package – moving in together, making it work.

Leaving her toothbrush next to his at the sink.

"I want you."

That takes her breath away. It's silly, because he's said it before – in the heat of the moment, his erection rubbing against her lower back, perhaps. But that's not what he means today, and she knows it. This is not a case of him wanting her on all fours, or writhing beneath him. This is him wanting her in his life and home for the foreseeable future.

She kisses him, urgent and messy, all teeth and tongues.

"Yes." She tells him between kisses. "Yes. Let's do it. Let's make it work."

He laughs, pulls right away from the kiss. "It already works, Clarke. Let's just – allow ourselves to believe it?"

She nods. They kiss some more, a little calmer, now. Hands start to wander – hers up the back of his shirt to stroke the firm muscles of his back, his dipping beneath her waistband.

She pulls away from the kiss, holds her hands out in front of her, clasped together.

"You're wearing a belt." She points out to him. He'll get the message – he knows that's an invitation to tie her up so they can break in their new bed properly.

Only he doesn't start work right away. He frowns at her, hard. "I like it when you can touch me too." He admits, quiet, saying it out loud for the first time since they started doing this. "Especially after today – I want you to be able to hold me."

She blinks, stunned. "OK. Yeah, sure. We can do that. Should we maybe – plan? What can we do that gets that for you but still – you know – I find it hot when you hold me down." She explains, flustered. This whole healthy relationship thing is going to be mortifying, she realises.

But at least she's only embarrassing herself in front of Bellamy. She doesn't much mind, when she looks at it like that.

He grins. "Sure, Princess. Of course we need a plan. Should have known you'd want to plan."

She rewards him with a grudging giggle.

"Get undressed and lie down on your back for me." He instructs her, firm.

It's not exactly a strategy meeting, but she goes with it. She knows he wouldn't have said that unless he'd got it worked out. She trusts him, totally and completely.

She discards her clothes quickly, notices that he is doing the same. She lies down on the bed, legs spread, hoping she doesn't look too shamelessly desperate for him.

Probably she does. Whatever, It doesn't matter. They're together, it's not like he's going to judge her for wanting him.

He kneels between her legs, then lifts her up so her legs are hooked around his waist and her hips are at the right height. It's good, this. She can see it's going to work for them – he's still holding her tight, still telling her what to do. But he gets to feel her legs wrapping around him and she reckons she can probably reach up to squeeze his arm or stroke his cheek, too.

"This OK, Princess?"

"Yeah. Great."

He nods, eases inside of her. She gasps a little – what with everything that's been happening in the approach to Praimfaya, it's been a while. She'd forgotten how good it felt to be full of Bellamy. And it feels even better, today, because she can look him right in the eyes and see how excited he is that they're starting out on this new chapter together.

He starts moving, slowly. She trails a hand up his arm, squeezes the firmness of his shoulder, cups his cheek.

He turns his head and presses a kiss to her palm.

That ought to feel out of place here, she thinks. A kiss to the palm does not quite fit with him holding her fast and thrusting into her. But it's so perfectly them, the blend of tenderness and tension, that it works, somehow.

He moves a little faster, and instinctively she tries to buck her hips to meet him. But she can't, because he's holding her firmly in place, just the way she likes it. So she can do nothing but lie here and take it, let him rule her world for a few precious minutes.

"You good?" He asks, panting.

She tries to roll her eyes, but she's a bit preoccupied with what's going on between her legs.

"I'm good. Better than good. Can't you tell by now?"

"I like to hear you say it." He tells her, eyes slipping away over her left shoulder as he confesses.

She grins. There's some useful knowledge. She runs her thumb over his cheek, telling him silently to get his gaze back over here. She likes looking him in the eyes while they bring each other pleasure.

"It's so good, Bellamy." She tells him. His name isn't really designed to be gasped out in a moment of passion, but it's a beautiful name for a beautiful man, so she sticks with it.

He moves faster still, breathing growing ragged. Clarke feels her own pleasure mount to meet his, decides to try that again.

"Missed you. It's been too long. Need you to fuck me more often." She tries, daring to branch out into the kinds of dirty talk she overheard through canvas back at the dropship.

That's clearly a hit. He's grimacing, now, trying to hold back on her account, but she doesn't need him to. She's nearly there too, struggling to talk as she fights the drive to close her eyes.

She wants to be looking at him when they both fall apart.

He groans, the rhythm of his thrusts starting to grow more frantic and irregular. She grips his shoulder, hard, squeezes him tight. She wants to keep him grounded, wants to remind him that he's safe and he can let go for her.

"You're OK. I've got you." She tells him. He might be the one holding her fast, but they've got each other. That's how this works – she gets it, now.

"Clarke -"

"You're OK. I'm there. I'm there."

She is there. She's coming, vision blurring as she tries to keep her eyes fixed on him. He's groaning as he spills inside her in turn. Their timing has only got better with practice, she's pretty sure. Hopefully they'll find even more things to practise in bed in the years to come.

He unwinds her legs from around his waist gently, eases her back down onto the bed. Her legs feel heavy, between that and her desperate sprint to the rocket earlier, but that's OK. She suspects Bellamy would carry her around for the next few days if she asked him to.

They settle in for a cuddle, on top of the sheets on their new bed, her head pillowed on his chest. It's nice – peaceful, warm, affectionate. All the things she didn't realise they could be, back when this began. In fact, she's not sure she realised she could still be those things until Bellamy's friendship taught her how. They're all the qualities Earth tried to steal from her, but he insisted on helping her hold onto.

"Am I allowed to say it now?" He murmurs, when they've been lying together a couple of minutes.

"Yeah." It's easy to agree to it, somehow, after the day they've had.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

He lets out a sigh, nuzzles into her hair.

"Knowing it's true and hearing it said are different, it turns out." She muses out loud.

"Getting sentimental on me?" He teases.

She giggles slightly and presses a kiss to his chest. She decides to tease him about something else in turn. "You know, this is why I mostly make the plans. Here we are in our new room and all we have with us is one toothbrush between us."

He laughs, a genuinely light and relaxed chuckle. It sounds good, and she hopes to hear it more often.

"By the time we've collected our things we might be ready for round two." He suggests, that laughter still bright in his voice.

She makes an agreeing noise, but she doesn't move right away. She knows it's a good idea to move their things in here for real, that there are plenty of other things they could be doing beyond just cuddling. They should sort out their room, and get some sleep, so they can get started on helping Raven with fuel or Monty with food in the morning.

But just for this moment, none of that feels urgent. They have a toothbrush, and hugs, and a loving relationship – and in her expert opinion, that's a damn good start.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
